Isat on a bench outside the Helios Theater, drawing in my sketchpad. My office was in the basement of the theater, but I often came out front to draw designs for upcoming plays, weather permitting. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving in Texas, so I was still in shorts and the coffee next to me was iced instead of hot.
Harrison City didn’t have much of a downtown to speak of, but for me, the crown jewel had always been the Helios. Built in the thirties by a rich oil tycoon, the art deco style was like nothing else in town, with its sharp angles and geometric patterns. It reminded me of old theaters back in Los Angeles, where I’d spent a few years working on movie sets after college.
That dream had died a couple of years back after a brutal breakup. I had returned to my hometown to lick my wounds, and I had been lucky enough to get a job at the Helios. Rodney, the manager there, had taken pity on me. I paid him back by working my butt off.
Working there wasn’t as glamorous as the sets I’d decorated back in LA, but at least I still got to work in my field, doing something I loved. Some parts of the year were slow, but the holiday season was always our busiest time. The theater made most of its money for the year during November and December and I would get a percentage of the ticket sales.
That was good. I needed money. Didn’t everyone these days?
This year’s Christmas show at the Helios wasThe Nutcracker, and it was my baby. I’d been planning it out for the last year, working with a local dance company to make sure it looked slick and professional. I was about five minutes away from putting the finishing touches on the set designs we would be using.
This could be it. My shot. My chance to finally, after two years, get back on my feet and make something of my life. I looked up at the giant sunburst over the marquee, using it for inspiration as I sketched the final designs.
My sun would rise again.
With the set designs finally finished, we would be ready to start building once the backstage theater staff returned from Thanksgiving break. Everything was going to plan for the show. It would run a few weeks before Christmas to just after New Year’s, so there were plenty of tickets to be sold.
Time for a break.I pulled my ham sandwich from the brown paper bag on the bench next to me. It wasn’t anything special, just white bread with a single slice of ham. I took small bites to make it last. My next payday couldn’t come soon enough.
Looking up at the theater I loved, I felt optimistic. Everything was finally coming together. All my hard work was about to pay off. Ithadto. I could feel it.
Then, Rodney came out the front doors, following a stern-looking man in a cheap suit.
“Please, there has to be something we can do,” Rodney was saying.
“It’s no longer up to me,” the man said without stopping. “Take it up with the city council.”
Rodney’s shoulders slumped and he watched the man get in his car and drive away.
“Rodney, what’s wrong?” I asked, feeling uneasy.
His brown eyes blinked behind his thick glasses like he was noticing me for the first time. Tall and broad-shouldered, my boss was in his mid-fifties and the man had been a steady rock over the last two years, like a kind, old uncle always there to tell me things would be okay.
He burst into tears on the sidewalk.
I leapt up from the bench to wrap my arm around his shoulders. Part of me was freaking out too, but for some reason, seeing people in distress always made me forget about my own feelings. I just wanted to make them feel better. That same instinct was kicking in right then. I locked my panic in a little box to be dealt with later.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “Whatever it is, you’re going to be okay.”
A fresh sob tore through him and he shook his head. “Not this time.” His fingers pulled at his tie, loosening it. He dragged in quick breaths, gasping. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
I was no doctor, but I had worked with dramatic theater people for a long time. “I think you’re just hyperventilating.”
“No, this is it. It’s the big one,” he whined between rapid breaths.
I fluffed open the paper bag and put it up to his face. “Breathe into that. Sorry if it smells like ham.”
I guided him to sit on the bench beside me. Rubbing his back, I let him breathe until things evened out. When he could speak again, he told me the apocalyptic news through his tears.
“The theater has to be shut down until spring.”
The words rang in my ears, and everything he said next sounded far away, like we were underwater. Someone had reported unsafe conditions. Things that weren’t up to code. The guy who’d just left was a building inspector with the city. The Helios had failed its inspection miserably.The Nutcrackerwas canceled and he was going to have to lay everyone off until the doors reopen after the renovations.
Ifthey ever reopened.
“I’m so sorry to do this to you right before Christmas,” he said. “I’ll get you your last check soon. I’ll see if I can throw in a little extra.”
I nodded my thanks, stunned and numb. “I appreciate that. Every little bit helps.”
